


Forget-Me-Not

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Anathema is a good bro, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley loves the 21st century so much you guys, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Magic, Other, Sleeping Together, Temporary Amnesia, it ends as it began in a garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: When a spell temporarily leaves Crowley with no memory of the last two hundred-odd years, Aziraphale is left helping him navigate the 21st century (easy), their changed relationship (still not hard), and the existence of the Bentley (mistakes were made).
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 303





	Forget-Me-Not

“Anathema! Anathema, my dear, are you home?”

Just for a moment, Anathema wondered what would happen if she yelled 'No'. Aziraphale was polite to a fault, and it would be just his flavour of weirdness to believe what he heard. Maybe. Possibly?

Well, best not to find out, so Anathema sighed, closed her laptop, and went to answer the door.

She was confronted with a very worried angel, who had a very unconscious demon flung over one shoulder, and had been mid-knock when Anathema opened the cottage door.

“Oh,” she said. “Not a social call.”

Aziraphale gave her a sickly smile. “I'm afraid not. May we come in? He's a bit heavier than he looks.”

“Of course,” Anathema said, standing aside. “There's a second bedroom. Uh, upstairs, back of the house.” She blinked and squinted. Ugh, their auras were always impossible to read at the best of times. All lions and eyes and snakes, and that was if she was lucky. There _was_ something different about Crowley, though, and not just because he was, apparently, knocked out. She'd have to do a little more work to find out just what, though.

She followed Aziraphale up to the spare bedroom, and helped him settle Crowley. He was – gentle. There was an ease to his movements she hadn't seen before and  _oh_ . They were like  _that_ like that. Of course they had obviously been two sides of the same coin, anybody could have seen that from orbit. But she had missed the love, the last time she'd seen them together.

Anathema let Aziraphale fuss a bit, tucking a pillow more firmly under Crowley's head, straightening his arms and legs, and settling a light blanket over him against the autumn air. And getting his shoes off, after a quick apology for letting them rest on the bed.

“Quite all right,” Anathema assured him, eyeing Crowley carefully. Yes, there was definitely something _there_. Like...a sandbar. She tasted sand, and felt something big. But not permanent. Interesting.

When Aziraphale started to adjust the blanket for the third time, Anathema figured it was time to step in. “Let's have a cup of tea and you can tell me what happened,” she said, relying on Aziraphale's inherent English-ness (despite the fact that he wasn't even human, and was definitely not English, except in every way that mattered) to pretty much always say yes to a cuppa and a biscuit.

She got him sat down in her kitchen and put the kettle on, and carefully measured out tea for the cheerful little teapot she'd found in a charity shop.

“I'm sorry,” Aziraphale said softly. “I'm being terribly rude, I know. I just...didn't know where else to go.”

Well, she wasn't made of  _stone_ . “It's all right. I'm glad you brought him here.”

“Are you keeping well, dear?” Aziraphale asked, clearly desperately grasping at conversational straws.

“Of course,” Anathema said lightly, puttering around for lack of anything better to do. She _did_ find a packet of biscuits at least, and laying them out on a plate killed a few minutes. “And you?”

“Oh, er, quite well. Thank you.”

Thankfully, the kettle whistled soon after, and Anathema got Aziraphale started on some biscuits while the tea actually brewed. Ever gentlemanly, he kindly poured for both of them, and they settled in.

“So. Tell me what happened,” Anathema said.

“Oh, well. It all started when, well, it's all my fault,” Aziraphale explained. “We were in Oxford, actually, just down the road. Having a spot of lunch and taking in the sights and all, as you do, and we'd gone back an antique shop. I spotted the most cunning chess set, all carved ivory and jet, really quite beautiful. I don't play very well,” he explained apologetically, “but Crowley likes a game now and again, and it was a work of art, truly.” He smiled sadly, and pulled something out of his coat pocket.

It  _was_ beautiful. One of the pawns, probably; tiny and intricately carved, when Anathema examined it she saw the the carved sphere held another one within it, which spun at a touch. “Oh,” she said. “It's wonderful. But it's not magic, or anything like that...”

“Oh! No, no, the problem didn't come from that. Not exactly.”

Anathema took a deep breath, and smiled. They weren't in a rush this time. Not like the end of the world. “Tell me what happened next.”

“I'm sorry. I'm terrible at this. I'm just...well.” Aziraphale wrapped his hands around his mug and stared into the depths of the milky tea.

“It's all right,” she said, and reached out to touch his sleeve. Bold thing, to touch an angel, but he was a very _worried_ angel, and his hair was a mess and his eyes were so sad. 

He smiled up at her, briefly, and sipped his tea. “Right. So we duck into the shop of course, so I can enquire after the chess set, and of course it's for sale, and certainly I wanted it. Had a little dicker for the fun of it, of course.” A flash of a smile. “I'm quite good at  _that_ , though no one believes me.”

Anathema thought of the slightly creepy guy who had fixed her bicycle and helped her from the car, and believed him. Aziraphale, if nothing else, contained multitudes.

“Just as we were leaving, Crowley saw it,” Aziraphale said. He seemed to curl inwards. “It was – you know what a witch bottle is, I assume?”

“Of course.”

He smiled at her briefly. “Clever girl. Well, it was unmistakeable. Ugly and as and anything, probably an old gin bottle and whatever had been lying around.  _Old_ magic. You don't really get it anymore,” he said, in what he probably thought was a tactful manner, but Anathema  _did_ understand. You didn't have fancy jewellery and grimoires and things, back in Agnes' day. But you also didn't get women put on pyres...

She thought for a second, and decided that that was a thing to think about sometime that wasn't this moment.

“So he bought that.”

“Of course. Wouldn't do to have it fall into the wrong hands. And we could destroy it if it came to that. _I_ could destroy it,” he ground out. “ _Safely_. But the bloody idiot! Could barely wait until he was in the Bentley when he _uncorked_ the thing. That must have been the trigger, of course, because the next thing I knew I was tasting sand and copper and _he_ was passed out, not even breathing! And I couldn't wake him up!” Aziraphale's eyes were going round an anxious again. “I know he's still alive in there but I don't know what happened, and I don't know how to make it better, and I thought you might. Please, you must help us, I know we're not...not exactly a happy memory, but please. He is...” Aziraphale stopped and swallowed whatever he was going to say next.

“I know,” Anathema said, not un-gently. “It's all right. Of course I'll help. Do you have the witch bottle with you?”

“Oh. I. One moment.”

A blink, and Aziraphale was gone, and another blink, and he was back, a manky old bottle in one hand. “Sorry, dear girl. Left it in the Bentley.”

“In...Oxford?”

“Yes. Miracles you know. Very handy.” Aziraphale took a sip of tea. “If a little disorienting.”

“If you can do that, why didn't you just miracle...into my house?” Anathema asked, a little fascinated.

“Oh, but that would be quite rude!”

“Of course.” She shook her head, put her mug aside, and examined the witch bottle. She sniffed it, and touched her tongue to the rim, trying not to think about what _else_ she might be licking. Definitely sand. Not meant to last forever. Hm.

She rummaged through some kitchen drawers, coming up with a pendulum, a notepad and pen, and a small bar of chocolate. “Let's go check on Crowley. I have an idea.”

“Of course. If there's any way I can help...”

“I'll let you know,” she promised, and led the way up to the back bedroom.

Crowley was exactly as they'd left him, apparently asleep. Well, considering that he wasn't breathing, apparently  _dead_ .

“He's...definitely still in there, right?” Anathema asked carefully.

“Oh yes! I can tell. Don't let the breathing put you off, he often forgets about that. And the blinking.”

“Of course,” Anathema said politely. She unwrapped the chocolate bar and set it down the bedside table, then set the pendulum dangling. It fell straight down when she held it over Crowley's heart, and refused to swing. 

“It's...never done that before,” she said carefully.

“New to me too,” Aziraphale admitted.

Anathema shrugged and set it aside. “Well, I won't try bible-cracking. I expect that wouldn't end well?”

Aziraphale wobbled his hand. “Don't let it touch him, and it won't hurt?”

“Hm. Good to know.” Anathema narrowed her eyes, really _looking_ at Crowley. Letting her mind go soft. Without thinking about it, she grabbed the pen and paper, and let herself just...sink. Sink down to the floor to sit by Crowley's feet. Sink into her own mind, let boundaries soften. Let other things come in, if they meant no harm.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, and Anathema guessed that she'd begun writing, but didn't take her eyes off of Crowley. Was there a little colour coming into his cheeks? Maybe. The sand was still there, but it felt...warmer. Like a snake uncoiling, oh yes, _definitely_ that. Scales moving against each other, golden eyes blinking open and _very much_ seeing Anathema.

She yelped as the connection severed, and dropped the pad of paper, jumping back as Crowley sat bolt upright with a yell.

“Crowley! My dear!” Aziraphale swooped down and kissed him, and Anathema genuinely worried for a moment that Crowley might pass out again.

“ _Aziraphale_? What was that for? Where are we? Who's she?” Crowley scrubbed at his hair, and looked down at himself in quiet horror. “ _What am I wearing_?”

Aziraphale turned and stared at Anathema, who had retrieved her paper. It was a sketch, with a strange, crabbed hand at a few points. She squinted, and turned it upside down, the right side up.

“It's all right,” she said. “It's temporary.”

“ _What's_ temporary?” Crowley asked. “The kissing?” He sounded distinctly sad about that.

“No,” Anathema said absently. “Your amnesia. You've lost, oh...” She squinted. “Two hundred years, give or take a few decades.”

“I've _what_?” 

“He's _what_?” Aziraphale looked at her in horror, then at Crowley, then at Anathema. “I. Oh no. Oh dear.”

“Well, last I checked, it was 1795, and _you_ were wearing a lot more embroidery.” Crowley looked Aziraphale up and down. “Not that this isn't nice, I suppose.”

“Oh, do you like it?” Aziraphale preened a little. “Not up to my standards then, though, you're quite right.”

“Not likely to lose your head over it either,” Crowley pointed out. “Cor, this is some fine fabric.” He plucked at the thin knit shirt he was wearing.

Anathema wondered when it would be appropriate to kick both of them out, where they could flirt  _not right in front of her_ .

As it turned out, they saw themselves out soon enough, after Aziraphale apologetically helped Anathema up and got her sat on the end of the bed. Crowley was obviously physically fine, lounging there and staring at Aziraphale's mouth while Anathema explained the situation to them.

“It's like...building a sandcastle,” she explained, showing them the sketch she had automatically drawn. “See, this line – that's Crowley's life. Timeline, really. And here – that's the barrier he's behind. It's not permanent, but it may take some time to get all your memories back,” she explained.

“Huh,” Crowley said softly. He tore his eyes away from Aziraphale to look around, wide-eyed at the world. The small bedroom was plain, but one could hear the occasional car, and of course there were the clothes. And the slim mobile Crowley found in his pocket, which he pecked at, utterly fascinated. Anathema wasn't sure, but he might have been _slightly_ more taken with sexy technology than the kiss, but she also firmly believed that that was not her business.

She offered Crowley a cup of tea and the chocolate bar. He accepted the chocolate, politely declined the tea and then, much to everyone's relief, Aziraphale offered to miracle them back to London.

“We can go pick up the Bentley when you...remember how to drive,” he said carefully. “Or, er, learn, possibly for the first time. You never did make that clear.”

“Drive? Like horses?” Crowley's face was a picture.

“No. No one really...uses...horses anymore, except as a hobby,” Aziraphale explained, and Crowley's expression noticeably brightened.

“Oh, I'm going to _love_ the future,” he said gleefully. “Take us home, angel, and tell me everything!”

They bid her polite goodbyes, blinked out existence, and Anathema sighed deeply, flopping back onto the bed and wondering if the stupid witch bottle would let  _her_ forget the day.

They reappeared in the bookshop under the great dome, sunlight streaming in through the frosted glass, and Aziraphale let out a soft but deeply-felt sigh.

“Oh.” Crowley looked around with wide eyes. “This is yours?”

“Yes, my dear. Since about 1800.” Aziraphale smiled. “Come and sit. We've spent many a night with a couple bottles of wine, here in the back room.” And, of course, upstairs in the bedroom, but that was...

Aziraphale turned his mind from that for the moment. Crowley would get his memories back. They would be in love again, and until then, he still had his best friend in the world, and he ought to be happy. Crowley was healthy and happy, gazing around him, already in love with this new-to-him world. It could have been so much worse.

A cheeky B&S would settle their nerves, so Aziraphale made them each a drink, handing his to Crowley and taking, not his new seat on the sofa beside his sweetheart, but his older one, in the chair a little across the way.

“Oh, thank you.” Crowley sipped it, and smiled. “Angel, you kissed me.”

“Oh! Er. Yes. I.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, looking into his drink. “I do beg your pardon.”

“But why?” Crowley sounded a little lost.

You didn't consent. Not really.” Aziraphale couldn't stop a sad smile. “I suppose I ought to tell you.”

“You didn't fall. _Tell me you didn't fall_.” Crowley's voice was raw, and far too fast he was kneeling before Aziraphale, one hand on his knee. “You didn't. You didn't, I can feel it. You never suffered that, at least.”

“Oh, Crowley. No, I didn't.” Aziraphale smiled down at him a little. “That's just it.” He took a deep breath. “Ever so much has happened. I'll tell you that story next. But you should know – Heaven and Hell, they leave us alone now. We scared them off, so to speak.” He touched Crowley's shoulder, hand itching to run through his hair, cup his cheek. “You're safe, my dearest one. Never have to go back there. They can't touch you, and if anyone tried, I'd turn them to dust.” He allowed himself a gentle touch to Crowley's cheek, just a fingertip. “And it's the same for me and Heaven. They don't...they leave me alone.” He smiled, and his mouth trembled. “No more abuse. No more nasty things said to me, no more being laughed at. No more threats. We're our own side now, dearest, you and me.”

Crowley let out a deep breath. “I never thought I'd hear you say that,” he said.

“That we're our own side?”

“That they treated you cruelly. But that too.” He smiled up at Aziraphale, apparently content to stay on the floor before him. “When did I finally tell you I loved you, angel?”

“Right after I told you.” Aziraphale giggled when Crowley's eyes went wide and his jaw actually dropped. 

“You told me first?! I! Not fair! Not fair that you remember and I don't!”

Aziraphale laughed harder and held his arms open. Oh, this was so, so much better, to have his sweet demon in his lap, to have Crowley curled up in his arms and head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder.

“It wasn't long after we averted Armageddon. Just the next night, actually.”

“We _what_?”

“Long story. I'll tell you in a moment,” Aziraphale promised. He tucked a stray lock of hair out of Crowley's forehead. “May I kiss you, dearest?”

Crowley answered by all but lunging for a kiss himself, his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders, and he moaned when their mouths came together. It was their second first kiss, in a way, and it was wonderful.

“I do love you,” Aziraphale murmured, when they finally took a break and he could press his face into Crowley's hair. It was all right. Crowley loved him still. Loved him then. Crowley was happy and healthy. Safe inside, with plenty to eat and drink and nice and warm and cared-for. Everything else was _nothing_ , compared to that.

“Tell me the story,” Crowley begged, so Aziraphale did.

“We were here, actually. On the sofa, though, not the chair. A little champagne-drunk – we'd gone to dine at the Ritz. You were opening a nice vinho verde, and I knew it was then. That I had to be brave.” His face crumpled a little. “I'm so sorry. I was such a coward for so long.”

“Shhh, shh. Don't be sad. Don't be sorry,” Crowley begged. “Tell me the good part.”

Aziraphale smiled. “It's a bit anti-climactic. You asked if you ought to put on some music and I just blurted it out. That I loved you. That I had loved you for some time and I thought you might be rather fond of me, so please don't hate me for loving you.”

“Good _Somebody_ ,” Crowley whispered. “Rather fond. Yes. What did I say?”

“If memory serves --” Aziraphale made a sound like 'ngk'.

Crowley tilted his head to one side. “Eh. Sounds like me.”

Aziraphale giggled, and kissed his cheek. “You dropped the wine! I had to save it, and I was afraid that was it, that I had waited too long. That I had been too much of a trial for you.”

Crowley made an angry sound in his throat.

“I know, I know. Now.” Another kiss, nuzzling the snake tattoo. “I said I loved you. Again, I mean. And you walked across the room and gathered me up in your arms. Crowley, no one has ever been so gentle with me, never in the world. And you said you l-loved me too.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Forgive me. This part is always very...emotional. For me.”

“Uh huh,” Crowley said, because the lump in his throat wouldn't let him say anything else.

“Where was I? Oh yes.” Aziraphale was smiling, remembering that flush of joy, the idea that _he could have this_. “That was when you said you loved me. I wasn't too slow for you. I mean, you didn't say that, but I worked it out.” He cleared his throat again. “You asked if you might kiss me. I couldn't even speak, just nodded my head. And you did. Kiss me, I mean.” His smile, somehow, grew wider. “It was a very _nice_ kiss. You are really quite good at it, dearest.”

Crowley nodded, and let Aziraphale fold him into a close embrace again, rocking him a little.

“It's a rather different world,” Aziraphale said softly. “I think you'll love it – while you're remembering, I mean. I'll help you, though I'll probably be quite rubbish at it.” He smiled a little. “You always tell me I'm behind the times, and that hasn't changed a bit in two hundred years. And. And if you like. We can live...as we do now. In love. Open about it. Unafraid. We can kiss, and share a bed, and all the lovely things we do together.”

“If I _like_?”

Aziraphale laughed. “It's quite a bit to take in!”

“I'll deal with it,” Crowley said. “I want to kiss you. I want to share a _bed_ with you.” He paused. “Wait, when did you start sleeping?”

“Oh, er, I mostly don't. You sleep and I read.” Aziraphale smiled a little bashfully. “Sometimes I take a nap, but. Ah. Mostly I read in bed. Next to you.” He laughed a little. “It sounds very silly when I put it like that.”

Crowley thought of waking up. Of wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's very soft waist and pressing his face into his very soft body and –

When his brain worked again, he tried to make it quite clear that he very, very much wanted things to go on as Aziraphale was accustomed to. You know, out of the goodness of his demonic heart.

“Now.” His face was alight, ready to gobble down two hundred years of technology as fast as possible. “Show me some of these wonders, angel.”

It had been...an interesting afternoon, Aziraphale decided. Having absolutely no idea where to start, he'd told Crowley about the anti-Christ and the Apoca-Not, figuring that was a slightly important point in time for the world, even if the world hadn't really known about it. Crowley had listened politely, a little impressed at both of them, Aziraphale thought. He'd asked for another kiss, and of course received a dozen, and a good proper cuddle on Aziraphale's lap.

“I used to dream of this,” Crowley murmured, his head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder. 

“I know, love. I'm so sorry,” Aziraphale said, stroking Crowley's hair, helping him get used to the short, stylish haircut again. 

“You're different,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “Not just the clothes.”

“Or the self-righteousness?”

“Aziraphale, you still have that.” Crowley grinned, inviting him to join in on the joke. And, very shyly, he kissed the back of Aziraphale's hand. “No, of course there's...less...of that. You're _not afraid_ ,” he said suddenly.

“Oh, I very much am,” Aziraphale assured him. “Of a great number of things, Heaven among them. But they're farther away. Leave us alone, and all that.” He blushed, a deeper pink than Crowley had seen before, and ducked his head. “I. I do believe I'm trying to be brave for you.”

“ _Angel_.” Struck dumb, Crowley couldn't do much other than simply sit there and shiver a little, and let Aziraphale cuddle him and thus comfort them both.

The rest of two hundred years of world history went about as one could expect. Aziraphale couldn't tell a linear story if his life depended on it, of course, but as Crowley was well aware of that going in, he could untangle the threads of various wars and kings and the inventions of the combustion engine and computers and the internet with reasonable accuracy.

“Besides,” Aziraphale said, when he found himself trying to explain Twitter, failing entirely, and being politely ignored in favour of Crowley scrolling through Twitter on his phone. “You'll remember it all soon enough.”

“Hmm?” Crowley looked up. “Oh, yes.” He smiled, when Aziraphale's words caught up with him. “Yes, of course. Though it sounds like I slept through a fair bit myself?”

Aziraphale considered this. “So you did, and it didn't seem to do you any harm.” He shivered. “You got on with that dreadful machine almost immediately, after all.”

Crowley brightened yet more at this. “That's right! I have a car!”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth. “You do. But really, my dear, you've had a terrible shock, I think it's best you let, er, sleeping cars lie until you remember how to drive--”

But Crowley was a demon in love. Aziraphale contemplated telling him he couldn't remember where they'd parked in Oxford and oh dear they'd just have to wait until Crowley remembered, but he did rather want his chess set. And the box of pastries they'd left there as well.

Bugger.

Against every sensible instinct he'd ever had, and upon the genuine pleading from his demon boy, Aziraphale miracled them to Oxford, and the Bentley. It had only been a few hours, really – goodness, what a day they were having, hadn't even picked up a parking ticket.

He explained a few of the basics to Crowley, tentatively suggested the existence of a speed limit, traffic laws, and pedestrians, and took his usual spot in the passenger seat.

“Now remember, don't get us discorporated! We don't know if we'll ever get bodies back,” was his final plea, which was probably lost on the demon with the gleeful expression on his face and the foot like a brick.

Aziraphale rarely liked driving with Crowley at the best of times, but this was...far from the best. It wasn't that Crowley was an _unskilled_ driver, because he was, technically, quite good. And even Aziraphale's explanation didn't dull any of that; the demon just had a knack for driving.

Perhaps that was the problem. Crowley _knew_ how to get out of little scrapes with millimeters and microseconds to spare, so that's what he did, and never mind a poor, nervous angel clutching his hands together in his lap, eyes tightly closed except for when he was pointing out that Crowley was about to hit something or someone.

“You're safe with me, angel!” Crowley roared as he pulled out onto a motorway and pushed the Bentley to its usual barely-subsonic speeds.

“Of course I am, dearest, I just – Oh, Lord!” It was probably better to just keep his eyes shut, although Aziraphale thought he'd quite like to see the thing that finally killed him. You know, identify the species of tree, or what-have-you.

Crowley whooped and cheered and drove faster. At some point, he put a tape in – he never had felt the need to change over to CD's in the car – and the driving beat of the music seemed to light something in him.

“What's this called, angel?” he yelled over the chorus of honking horns and Freddie Mercury.

“Bebop,” Azirpahale said miserably, as they went up on two wheels to take a tight curve. Having discovered the motorway and quickly gotten bored, Crowley had now discovered country byways that would have given them a view, had it not all been a blur.

“I love bebop!” Crowley yelled to the world. It was the future and he had a _car_ and it was _great_ and basically all of human history was in his pocket, and and and. And a thing that was almost too big to think of, Aziraphale loved him. They were in love. They lived together and shared a bed _whoopee_ Crowley really did nearly drive off the road thinking of _that_. Of falling asleep and waking up with a happy little angel right next to him, still plowing through a dusty old book, and they'd have coffee together and maybe he'd get to watch Aziraphale eat a pastry. He always liked that.

It was almost a shame to drive so fast; it did mean they got back to the bookshop in far too short a time, with Crowley speeding until the very last, and slamming on the brakes as they skidded into his usual spot.

“See angel! Got us home safe and sound!”

Aziraphale, who had just become the first immortal being to lose twenty years off his lifespan from pure terror, simply nodded, and concentrated on remembering how to let go of the door handle.

He had the presence of mind to retrieve his chess set at least, and of course their pastries, and follow Crowley into the shop on wobbly legs. The CLOSED sign would _absolutely_ remain in place for the rest of the day, and possibly tomorrow as well, until Aziraphale had recovered enough to deal with the general public. Well, those of the general public who were brave enough to come into his store and perhaps think about trying to buy something, anyway.

He settled his purchases and put the kettle on, definitely needing a good, strong cup of tea to settle his nerves. Crowley had thrown himself exuberantly onto the sofa and was learning how YouTube worked when Aziraphale brought in the tray, each of them with their cups of tea as they liked it best, a habit far too ingrained to break.

“Oh, thank you,” Crowley said, a little startled but genuinely grateful and all right. If he kept smiling at Aziraphale like that, surprised and so happy and a little bashful, he could play loud music and drive his car fast.

Well, perhaps not _quite_ so fast as he just had. But fast.

“May I?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing to his usual spot on the sofa. Crowley's mouth hung open a little, but then he scrambled to make room.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled at him and sipped his tea, instantly refreshed, or at least feeling a bit more himself. The healthy dollop of whiskey he'd added to his cup certainly helped with that, it must be said.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley's voice had gone quiet, and he looked...unsure. Oh, poor dear boy, this world must be so new to him. Aziraphale felt a swell of tenderness in his heart, an echo of the angel who had sheltered a demon against the first rainstorm. He would take such good care of Crowley, shepherd him through a strange new world. Everything must be very frightening; the world had grown so _loud_.

Aziraphale prepared to do whatever was necessary – set aside a room free of modern things (that was, essentially, his entire flat anyway), or answer any question Crowley had to the best of his ability. Anything, to take care of his friend, his love.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked, hoping to convey just how ready he was to protect Crowley from the strange world around him, from _anything_ that he was worried over.

“May I hold your hand?”

Aziraphale blinked, startled for a moment. That was _it_? No question about phones or even the wireless, no need to go back over the major causes of the First World War. The thing that had made Crowley sound shy and worried was – _that_?

“But of course,” he said, and held out his hand, curling his fingers around Crowley's. “You don't need to ask about that, my dear boy. Particularly not after all the kissing,” he added, remembering that first flush of bringing Crowley home, of introducing him to his new life.

“I. I rather think I do,” Crowley said, as he curved his hand around Aziraphale's. “Even with the kissing. And the cuddling. Which was very nice, don't get me wrong. But.” He took a deep breath, and appealed to Aziraphale to understand with a look.

“But I love you, darling,” was all Aziraphale could come up with “I told you all about that.”

Crowley grinned, and looked down. He was still wearing his dark glasses, and all right, it hurt, just a little. Aziraphale had grown used to seeing Crowley's eyes when they were alone like this. It was, if he had to be honest, a more intimate gift than the kisses. But he wouldn't push. Never, ever; Crowley had never pushed him, and it was right to return the favour, so to speak.

“You love him,” Crowley tried to explain. “Me, I know, but me with...more time. Me, but different. I don't want to take liberties. To ask for too much.” His voice was so low Aziraphale had to lean in to hear it. “He'll be back, when the spell wears off. But I don't want to...to assume. _My_ Aziraphale, the one I remember – the last time I saw you, I mean – oh bugger, it's too hard to explain –“

“It's all right, my dear. Oh, Crowley, didn't you know? Two hundred and twenty years ago, I loved you,” Azirphale said. “I was very afraid, and rather cowardly, and extremely confused about – about Heaven. And being a good angel.” He smiled bitterly. “I still thought I was one, you see.”

“Stop it! You're a good angel. The best.” Crowley turned to face him, reaching out his other hand, taking both of Aziraphale's and squeezing his fingers. “In the ways that matter, anyway. Yeah, you're shit at your job, I'm shit at mine. But you're...you're _Aziraphale_ ,” he said, as if that would explain everything.

Aziraphale couldn't stop a smile, and he rubbed his thumbs over Crowley's knuckles. “I am, dearest. And that's why you've got to believe me...when did you last see me? I mean, before you woke up in Anathema's spare bedroom, what was your last memory of me?”

“Dining in York,” Crowley said promptly. “And I agreed to take your blessing in Nuremburg, since I had a bit of demonic working to do there anyway.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I remember that. A lovely roast duck. We were just coming out of the hungry gap, some excellent greens with it, as I recall.” He lifted Crowley's hands, watching his face carefully, ready to stop in an instant. This was different, now, from the first flush of love, of knowing that Crowley would be all right. No flinches came, though, nothing on Crowley's face to say no, so Aziraphale placed a kiss on the back of each hand, lips brushing over skin so well-loved it ought to have glowed with angelic gold. Except, of course, that would likely have hurt Crowley, and so none of that. It was perfectly loved as it was.

“I loved you,” he said. “I remember so clearly that I loved you then. My dearest friend. You told me a story that made me laugh, do you remember?”

Crowley nodded, and had to swallow a few times before he could speak. “About. About Aberystwyth. And the goose, and the tailor's wife and--”

“Yes!” Aziraphale laughed, remembering, throwing his head back and giggling his head off, the way he had all those decades ago. Centuries. “I hadn't laughed so hard in months. And I loved you for that. And for all of you, really.” He smiled warmly, and held Crowley's hands safe in his. “My very dearest. You're different, of course you are. You're missing a few memories. I've changed as well – changed quite a lot. But I know I love you, and I suspect you are quite fond of me. The me now, I mean.”

“Angel, I can't imagine not loving you,” Crowley said quickly. “Don't worry over that, never worry over that. I love you.” He gasped a little, and lowered his face. “I love you,” he repeated, and oh. Aziraphale had to gather him up and hold him close, of course. Except he wasn't protecting Crowley from anything modern, but from Aziraphale's own sad, worried, past self. Poor old then-angel; he had been hurting, and didn't know what to do with a full heart, not like Aziraphale knew now.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Aziraphale promised. “Here, now, it's safe, yes, take your glasses off if you want, love. No one will see, I promise.” He smiled into Crowley's eyes, such a pretty amber-yellow, and rocked them a little, holding his dear one close. “Oh, I love you so.”

Crowley gave a little shiver, and tucked himself even closer, letting himself be comforted. Protected. Aziraphale's heart did the swelling thing again, and he had to fight to not manifest his wings and mantle them over his darling, his love, his Crowley.

They sat like that for a long time, Aziraphale simply holding Crowley and stroking his hair, offering any comfort he could. Poor dear boy – of course he could handle the modern world, he'd always taken to that like a duck to water. It was Aziraphale who had always been the grit in the gears, and this was no different.

He turned his mind away from such things – now was not the time. Crowley needed him, so Crowley would have him.

“Better?” he asked, when he felt Crowley start to stir.

“Better with a kiss,” Crowley suggested, and Aziraphale threw his head back and laughed.

Not for very long, though. He had a kiss to deliver, and another after that, and a third in case the first two got lonely, and, well, really. It would take some time.

They dined in, not really wanting to leave the intimacy of the bookshop and they could get food delivered just as easily, so why not? Crowley learned (again) that he adored Thai as much as he liked any food, and he _particularly_ adored watching Aziraphale feast. They fed each other choice bites in between kisses, and a split a delicious white wine, something new from Aziraphale's collection.

Crowley was still a little hesitant, the first flush of excitement passing and leaving him...not unsure, exactly, but certainly cautious. And gentle; so incredibly gentle it made Aziraphale's heart hurt. He checked carefully anytime he touched Aziraphale, kissed his hand before his lips and looked up to make sure it was still welcome.

For his part – well. It was a little like when they first admitted their love to one another. It was a thing one could get drunk on, this heady feeling, and all wrapped up in Aziraphale finally, finally being able to protect and comfort and ease Crowley's way the way Crowley had always done for him.

The spell had already begun to wear off when they made ready for bed; Crowley had distinctly remembered waking from his nap, and one or two things from the early 19th century, all of which he had gleefully shared with Aziraphale as they got changed.

“Oh! Still no Efforts?” he asked, after looking down at himself and his thin, rangey body.

“No, love. No need.” Aziraphale smiled. “Our relationship is – well, it's called asexual, today.”

Crowley parsed the Latin, tilted his head to one side, and accepted it with a nod. “Makes sense.” He slid between the covers, laughing at how the mattress bounced. “Oh, that's fun!” He gave another experimental bounce or three, and Aziraphale laughed just to see such happiness on his face.

“You really stay in bed with me all night?” he asked, as Aziraphale slipped in beside him, selecting a volume from the teetering pile on his nightstand.

“Not always,” Aziraphale admitted. “Sometimes I go putter around the shop, or do something else. But mostly – yes. And always when you fall asleep and wake up.” He smoothed Crowley's hair back off of his face, smiling down at the happy demon already curling up under the covers. “I'll be here all night tonight, dearest. Just in case.”

Crowley's smile grew. “You're real. I can't believe you're real. That this is real. That you love me.” He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist, face buried in the soft curve of his side. “Fuck, but I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, dearest. Now rest – you've had rather a busy day, I wager.” He rubbed Crowley's back and pulled the blankets up over his shoulders a little more firmly, waiting for him to relax and settle on his pillow, drifting off as he did most nights.

Crowley kept his arms around Aziraphale, though, and fell asleep just like that, face buried in his side until sleep relaxed him so much he slumped away.

Aziraphale watched him for a little while, and then resumed reading, filling the sweet dark hours until Crowley woke again.

Unfortunately, it wasn't so very many hours before he stirred, and cried out, and Aziraphale's arms were already around him when he blinked his eyes open, mid-whimper.

“Bomb!” he cried, and Aziraphale hugged him closer.

“Long exploded,” he murmured. “So long ago. You're safe, dearest. Shhh, breathe, it's just a memory.”

“They were going to discorporate you--”

“Until you saved me.” Azirphale smiled, and kissed Crowley's forehead. “And then I returned the favour.”

“Idiot angel,” Crowley mumbled, finally aware enough to hug back. “I can't believe I let you get that far into trouble. I'm a moron. A complete wanker.”

“Hey now. That's the love of my life you're talking about.” Aziraphale's hand stuttered a little. “Also. Ah. We. We weren't really...on speaking terms...”

“ _What_? What stupidity did I pull to deserve that!”

Aziraphale found himself suddenly blinking away tears. What must Crowley think of himself, to always automatically blame only _himself_?

“Nothing,” he said. “You didn't do anything wrong. I...overreacted. To something.”

“Angel.” Crowley pushed himself up to sit and shoved himself quite firmly into Aziraphale's arms. “I can't imagine giving you up that easy. Whatever you did, I did something too. I know it.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You didn't. Not really. Oh, love. You asked me for holy water. I didn't take it well.”

“Oh.” Crowley blinked. “You know I'd never...on myself...”

“Well, yes, I know that _now_ ,” Aziraphale snapped. “I didn't then. And I was. Well.” He sniffled. “I was dreadful to you. And you yelled back, and we quarrelled and then you disappeared, and you were _asleep_ , for decades, and I didn't see you to speak to you or know where you were until you rescued me.”

“'Course I did,” Crowley murmured. “Why would I do anything else? Oh, angel. No. It's the past, and here I am making you relive it all. Ignore me.”

“I will _not_ ,” Aziraphale said sternly. He buried his head in Crowley's shoulder for a moment, familiar and bony, _his_ demon. “I'm quite all right, I assure you.”

“Uh huh. Obviously.” Crowley hugged him tightly. “Love you, you know. That's how I could find you at the church. Always know where you are. Like a giant bloody beacon.”

“I know, dearest. It's quite handy, actually.” Aziraphale eased a little. The past was past, and he couldn't do anything about it, but he could love Crowley as hard as could be right _now_. “Do you want to go back to sleep, sweetheart?”

Crowley shook his head. “More fun doing this,” he confided, and grinned at Aziraphale, who couldn't stop an indulgent smile back. He set his book aside, more than ready for a few hours of cuddling his demon boy, his Crowley who loved the world so completely that he slid effortlessly into the future, but it was his care for Aziraphale that slowed him and steadied him.

They cuddled until a decent hour of the morning, staying in each others' arms in bed and talking of nothing much at all; when memories came up, it was ones they both shared.

“Stay in bed, I'll bring us coffee,” Aziraphale said.

“You know, I'm not actually ill,” Crowley pointed out with a grin.

“I know. But this seems like a good excuse to do for you. At least until I teach you how to work the stove,” Aziraphale teased. He rose and shrugged on his dressing gown, and leaned over for one more kiss. “I love you, darling. Back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

Crowley's groan had him sailing out of the bedroom, feeling rather as though he could take on the world single-handed, if it meant he could return to the demon in his bed.

The next few days passed sweetly. Of course, Aziraphale didn't open the shop, seeing as he had Crowley to tend to. (Crowley, of course, was just fine and didn't need special attention or anything like that, but Aziraphale saw no need to turn down a small holiday.) Memories came back in fits and starts, and occasionally lead to _very_ confusing questions, but largely Crowley rolled with it. Besides, more than anything else, they played chess by a crackling fire, or shared a pot of tea, or simply held one another, Crowley still a little wide-eyed at being given all of this, even as he remembered the aftermath of the Apoca-not on his own.

Altogether, it took a week until Crowley was pretty sure he remembered everything. (“The holy water wasn't either of our best moments,” he finally conceded.

“I'm sorry, love,” Aziraphale said softly. “Always sorry.”

“It scares me what it means about how you were, that you decided I wanted it to take my life. Why did your thoughts go _there_ right away?” Crowley asked.

“You know. But it doesn't matter anymore. I never would have – not really. If. If things had gone the other way.” Aziraphale kissed the palm of Crowley's hand. “I would never have left you, I swear to you.”

“I should never have left _you_ ,” Crowley grumbled, and then they had to take a break from everything, to just be together.)

They celebrated with a picnic in a garden, of course. So to speak – a little BnB in Virginia Water and a Fortnum & Mason hamper in Windsor Great Park was a little too Apollonian to really compare to Eden, but for a delightfully English getaway, it all worked wonderfully. Aziraphale feasted, and fed Crowley the best little bites he could find, and Crowley watched him feast, grinning at the angel, the garden, and the world in general.

“As adventures go, this one wasn't so very bad,” Aziraphale observed, sipping the last of his wine.

“Don't tempt fate, now, angel,” Crowley warned, and Aziraphale smiled at him over his glass. “What if I didn't remember next time?”

“You were snogging me back in about thirty seconds,” Aziraphale said. “I'm not worried.”

Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it. “I can't even joke about it,” he admitted, while Aziraphale threw his head back and laughed.

“Even if you'd lost all your memories, I think you would love me,” Aziraphale admitted.

“I know I would,” Crowley said softly, and leaned in for a little kiss. “Not to tempt fate, but I fell in love in moments last time. Why not again?”

Aziraphale glowed with joy as he drew his demon close for another kiss, feeling very lucky indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> If I do nothing else in writing fanfic, resurrecting Harriet's chess set will be my legacy.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! I'm on tumblr at [dietraumerei.tumblr.com](http://dietraumerei.tumblr.com).


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